


Moonlight Madness

by L_aryy



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Long-Haired Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Mentions of minor characters, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, haircut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2018-11-18 18:56:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11296758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_aryy/pseuds/L_aryy
Summary: Viktor: "Cut my hair, Yuuri."Yuuri: Yuuri.exe has stopped workingAU where Yuuri is a hair stylist and figure skater Viktor Nikiforov comes into his shop and wants a haircut





	1. The New Customer

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for the responses to my last fic! I can't tell you how much I appreciate it :) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this one!

“Thanks for bringing us lunch.” Yuuri said as he wiped off the last dregs of rice and egg with the pork cutlet. He popped it into his mouth. His mother ruffled his hair.

There were variations of “Thanks, Mrs. Katsuki!” from Phichit and Yuri as they shovelled their second helping of katsudon. Yuuri looked on jealously. Before Yuuri could eat a third bowl, Yuri had kicked him hard in the shin and levelled him with a lethal glare. Yuuri had surrendered, rubbing at the sore spot. 

Their little makeshift kitchen was already a bit of a squeeze with the three of them. With Yuuri’s mother in there now, they were practically elbowing each other. The sink was hidden inside the wall and all they could afford was a small microwave. Phichit had wanted to buy a mini fridge but Yuuri had shot it down, after asking if Phichit would be willing to carry it around since their space would not allow them to fit it in.

“You’re welcome.” Yuuri’s mother laughed. “You boys are always working so hard, it’s the least that I can do.”

“More!” Yuri shoved his empty bowl at her. “Um, please.” Chuckling, Yuuri’s mother refilled it.

“We haven’t exactly been working that hard, Mom.” Yuuri said as he put his bowl in the sink and turned the faucet on. “Business has been slow. I don’t know how much longer Hair Yuutopia can last at this rate…” Guilt squeezed his throat and he looked down, bracing his hands on the edge of the sink.

Outside, the salon had three chairs and two trolleys that the three hair stylists had to share. Business was extremely slow, given that the shop was tucked into a pocket of Detroit. The only customers that they had were his parents’ old customers from when they were owners and the ones Phichit and Yuri had managed to wrangle in when they came to work. Months ago, Yuuri tried advertising and it had worked. At least for a time. Eventually though, people forgot about the little shop with the poodle mascot on the front.

She hummed sympathetically. “No, Yuuri. It’s because of you that the shop’s still standing. Don’t worry so much about it.” His mother patted his cheek and Yuuri tried to offer her a smile but judging by her expression, he wasn’t all too convincing. 

Once Yuri had finished his fourth bowl, Yuuri’s mother gathered up the dishes and put them in the bag. Giving a cheerful wave, she left through the back door, closing it gently.

The three of them stretched, groaning as their bellies protested. Yuuri started the wash as Phichit and Yuri headed to the front. He didn’t expect there to be too many people. There were scheduled appointments from two people named Otabek and Minami who would be coming in later but he knew his friends would be able to deal with them. 

He settled into a chair and brought up his phone, preparing himself for a few hours of quiet.

It wasn’t like he didn’t enjoy his job. 

It was the prospect of talking to customers (and inevitably, the customers would always try to have a conversation with him) that made Yuuri unwilling to venture out. He never knew what to say and if he did, he always managed to say the wrong thing. And they were constantly asking about him and whenever Yuuri tried to deflect or direct the conversation elsewhere, the customers gave him a hurt expression like Yuuri had just insulted their baby.

Sighing, he tapped in his passcode, and changed his phone wallpaper from the one of Vicchan to his namesake. He scrolled through his 634 photos of his Viktor Nikiforov album and found his favourite: the one of when Viktor was in his Junior Worlds. The one of his “Eros” costume with black mesh, suggestively revealing skin. The picture was of Viktor mid-twirl, eyes closed as his long silver hair twisted around his figure. 

Countless times, Yuuri wondered exactly what Viktor had been thinking as he leapt, whirled and flittered around on the ice. His step sequences? Preparing for his next quad toe? A specific image or an emotion that Viktor wanted to encapsulate? As he grew older, he found that he didn’t care. Watching Viktor was mesmerizing enough that knowing the answer was no longer an issue.

“Oi, katsudon.” Yuri poked his head in, breaking his train of thought. Yuuri nearly broke his phone in his effort to slam it face-down. “There’s a customer.”

Heart caught in his throat, Yuuri said, “C-Can’t you take them, Yuri?”

Yuri rolled his eyes and swept his bangs from his face. His blond hair was braided in an intricate knot that Yuuri knew had taken the fifteen-year old a half hour to tie. “I’m kind of busy working if you bothered to look up from your damn phone. Just take him, will you?” He disappeared, muttering irritably. 

Sighing, Yuuri crammed his phone in his back pocket and strolled to the front. Pushing aside the curtain, he began, “Welcome to Hair Yuutopia, how may I—”

Someone was standing near the door, talking to his phone. The words that sprouted out was unfamiliar to Yuuri. The smooth cadence and the edged syllables sounded like it could be Russian. At the sound of Yuuri’s voice, the man spoke a few more words before hanging up and slipping the phone into the pocket of his overcoat. 

Yuuri froze.

The man was tall and slim. His face was thin and wan, the sharp cheekbones set high. And eyes. So unbelievably blue, framed with silver eyelashes. Long, bony fingers began unravelling the thick black scarf tied around his neck, exposing a pale expanse of skin. Then moonlight cascaded down.

He would recognize that hair anywhere. 

_Oh my god._

“Hello.” Viktor Nikiforov smiled. Yuuri’s heart flipped.

“Hi!” Yuuri squeaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Hi!” His voice broke.

_What are you doing here? Why are you here? Oh my god, I can’t stop talking. He’s staring at me! I have to talk. SAY SOMETHING, YUURI._

Yuuri made an unintelligible noise.

Viktor chuckled, shedding his long coat. He was wearing a black suit where a grey-collared shirt peeked out. The suit tapered, hugging the man’s slender waist before it flared out again. Giving a sigh, he loosened his tie, popping off the top button. His long, silvery hair floated in an elegant curtain. “Commemorative photo?

Everything stuttered to a stop. He managed to find his voice. “Huh?”

A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “You were staring. I don’t mind. It’s probably not every day that you see a man with this much hair.”

Yuuri didn’t say anything. He was afraid that if he did, he would embarrass himself more.

“N-No, thanks. Um, how can I help you?” Yuuri wished his hands wouldn’t stop flapping around. He stuffed them behind his back.

Viktor quirked his eyebrow, touching his index finger to his lips. Yuuri stared, enthralled, as the finger tapped once, then twice. Somebody pinched his arm and he yelped. Phichit gave him a knowing glance, smirking slightly. He gave an internal groan. No doubt, Phichit had recognized who this was. Yuuri turned back to Viktor, face burning.

“Well, I’m here.” Viktor said, spinning in a graceful twirl. “So, I’d like you to cut my hair.”

Yuuri’s brain short-circuited. “ _What_?” 

The other customers, and their respective barbers, turned around. Yuri made a derisive noise. Phichit stifled a laugh behind his hand. Yuuri didn’t care, even though he could feel his ears turning red. How could he request such an outrageous thing? Cut his hair? Yuuri would rather shave his own head before ever touching a single lock of Viktor Nikiforov’s.

He realized, too late, that Viktor had been calling for him for a few minutes. He slowly came down to his body, dazed. Viktor was smiling, although it was tinged with concern.

“Why?” Yuuri blurted out before he could say anything.

A little startled, the figure skater tugged at the end of his hair. “I…needed a change.” Shooting Yuuri a charming smile, Viktor found a vacant seat at the end of the shop and sat in it with a flourish. He glanced at Yuuri. “Will you do the honours…?” He trailed off.

“Um. Yuuri.”

“Yuuri?” His smile nearly blinded Yuuri. “Viktor Nikiforov.”

_I know that! I have 23 posters of you in my room and an embarrassingly outrageous amount of your merch!_

Slowly, he walked over there. His movement was stiff, mechanical. It was like his arms weren’t even his own as they grabbed the plastic sheet and wrapped it around Viktor’s neck. Dragging his little trolley, Yuuri fussed with his tools. Refilled his spray bottle. Swept the floor. As he went around to the back to fill his watering can for the flowers at the front of the shop, Yuuri’s shoulder was nearly dislocated with the amount of force Phichit gave as he yanked on his arm. Phichit was in the midst of dying the front of a young boy’s hair red.

“What’s happening with you?” Phichit laughed.

“What? We forgot to water…”

“I mean with Viktor.” Phichit indicated with a sharp jerk of his chin where the man in question was perusing a magazine. A dog one. “You like him, don’t you?”

“No I don’t!” Yuuri said too quickly. 

“How long have we known each other, Yuuri?” Phichit scolded. “You can’t fool me.”

Yuuri managed to shake Phichit off. He walked back to Viktor. He stared down at his scissors. Imagined touching Viktor’s hair, feeling the texture slide through his fingers. And then snipping it. It was akin to breaking some kind of magical spell. A spell that Viktor had cast since he first stepped on the ice.

He couldn’t.

When he looked up, Viktor was looking at Yuuri through the mirror, expression curious.

“Is there something wrong?”

“What? No, no, no!” Yuuri needed to stop waving his arms around like a broken toy. “It’s…” He struggled to find the words. Something to express his shock and his confusion as to why this man wanted to cut off such beautiful hair. Something that wouldn’t make him sound totally crazy. A piece of it fell into his eyes and Viktor tucked that strand behind his ear.

“Is it natural?” 

Yuuri slapped his hands over his mouth, mortified. He heard someone—it might have been Phichit—mutter “Yuuri, you can’t just _ask_ someone that.”

“Oh God,” Yuuri said, voice muffled. “That…it was out of line. I’m sorry! Ignore me…” 

A delighted laugh interrupted him. More like a snort than it was a laugh. There was a wide smile on Viktor’s face. Yuuri squinted. It looked different from the one he had been given earlier. More relaxed. Surprise filtered into Viktor’s face as if he didn’t know that he could laugh this way.

“What the fuck was that sound?” Yuri yelled as he shaved the sides of a young man’s head. Yuuri could see motorcycle gloves lying on the table in front of them. Viktor ignored him, his eyes entirely concentrated on Yuuri now.

“Yep,” the man ran his fingers through his hair and the strands glided through like silk. “Had all of this since birth. I can prove it if you don’t believe me: would you like to see my baby photos?” He reached for his wallet.

“No!” Yuuri said even though his hands were itching to grab for it. He couldn’t help himself. All of the magazines and newspapers he’d hoarded over the years only showed Viktor when he was 10 or 11. Although he wondered, in the back of his mind, why anyone would carry baby photos of themselves in their wallet. “I-I believe you.”

Viktor pouted.

There was a moment where the two of them didn’t say anything. And strangely, Yuuri wasn’t bothered by it. Viktor seemed content to let the silence settle between them. There was a comfort in the words that they didn’t speak but eventually, Yuuri knew that he would have to, at least, come up with an explanation.

“It’s just…” Yuuri fiddled with his scissors. “A shame.” he said finally. It wasn’t what he wanted to say but it would have to do. 

Viktor was silent.

Yuuri took a deep breath and tried for a smile.

“How do you want to cut it?” Maybe Yuuri was overreacting. Maybe Viktor only wanted a trim. Half an inch. Or maybe just a wayward white hair that he found (although Yuuri knew that made no sense).

Viktor met Yuuri’s eyes. For a second—the briefest flash of a moment—something slipped in his gaze, making him look older and younger at the same time.

“I want it all off.”


	2. Tiny Little Sips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri and Viktor go get some coffee and start to get to know each other. Baby steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the comments on my last chapter and I do apologize for the long wait. I didn't mean to have 3 chapters for this but it was getting a bit long. Last chapter is already being written :)

“All of it?” Phichit hissed.

Yuuri nodded, eyes downcast. The two were sequestered in the washroom after Yuuri had mumbled an excuse about an upset stomach and bolted. He had texted Phichit and fifteen seconds later, Phichit was crammed into the bathroom with Yuuri.

Phichit furrowed his brow, scratching his undercut. Last week, he had attempted to grow his hair past his shoulders but decided that it wasn’t his style. His latest hairstyle had received over a thousand likes on his Instagram when he posted a picture. “Did you ask why?”

“I ran before he could say another word.” Yuuri twisted his hands. “I can’t do it, Phichit. I mean, this is _Viktor_ we’re talking about _._ He’s…” He trailed off, unable to find the word to describe exactly who Viktor Nikiforov was. He was elegant. Exuded grace and seductiveness on and off the ice. Yuuri’s hands shook just at the thought of touching any part of him. 

And now Viktor wanted Yuuri to cut all of his hair off.

There was a tremendous slam, the door of their stall trembling. The two of them jumped.

“Um, someone’s in here!” Yuuri yelled. The two friends exchanged confused looks. 

“Hey, katsudon!” A familiar voice shouted. The door shook on its hinges as if someone was kicking at the door. “Get your ass back out here!”

“Oh,” Phichit said. “It’s only Yurio.” He unlocked the door and yanked the teenager in. Yuri let out a squawk, thrashing his arms. It was a tight squeeze but somehow they managed to fit without jabbing each other's eyes out. 

“What the hell was that for?” Yuri grumbled. “Otabek’s waiting for me.”

“Otabek?” Yuuri asked, curious. “Is it that boy with…”

Yuri leaned against the door, crossing his arms across his chest, expression stoic. “Don't you dare talk to him, katsudon. He's too cool for you.”

“Yuuri needs help.” Phichit said brightly, acting like Yuri hadn’t just threatened his best friend. “His crush asked him to cut his hair.”

“Phichit!” Yuuri spluttered. “I don’t—he’s not…”

“Save it, katsudon.” Yuri rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen you kissing your phone wallpaper.” Phichit coughed loudly into his sleeve to mask his laugh. Yuuri’s face burned.

Yuri rolled his eyes. “So, Viktor Nikiforov wants you to cut his hair. And you’ve been dreaming and drooling about this guy for years now. So what?”

“Yes,” Phichit said. “But, see, the problem is, is that, you know, it’s Viktor freaking Nikiforov.”

Yuuri made a helpless sound in assent.

His friend turned to him. “Maybe it’s a phase?”

“Or maybe he got something stuck in his hair. He looks stupid enough to do it.”

“Ooh, that’s an idea, Yuri.”

Yuuri gave them both an aghast look. “Viktor wouldn’t do that! He takes good care of his hair! He conditions every night and lets it air dries before he sleeps!”

Yuri stared. “How the hell do you know that?”

Yuuri didn’t speak. Neither of his friends needed to know that he had had to painstakingly go through Google Translate and countless Russian dictionaries to translate a Russian haircare article that had a small interview with Viktor.

Huffing, Yuri shoved his way out, elbowing Yuuri in the ribs in the process. “Why don’t you just fucking ask him, then? Stop whining about it in the bathroom.”

Ignoring Yuuri’s spluttering protests, the younger boy stormed back out into the main area. Phichit patted Yuuri’s shoulder. “Yurio’s right for once, you know. There’s no point in speculating.”

Yuuri looked down. “What if I mess up?”

“Yuuri,” he had never seen Phichit look so serious. “You don’t mess up. That’s not even in your vocabulary.” He leaned in and hugged him. 

“You’ll be fine. Go talk to him.”

The words that came out of Yuuri’s mouth wasn’t what he meant to say, but it was true, all the same. “I just don’t want to hurt him.”

 

“Can we talk?” Yuuri asked when he emerged from the bathroom, nearly twenty minutes later.

Viktor looked up from his magazine. He didn’t comment about his dishevelled appearance or how his face was still glistening from the water that he had splashed on his face. He tilted his head, concern filtering through his eyes. “Are you all right, Yuuri?”

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You were in the bathroom for a long time.”

Heat rose to his cheeks. “Oh. Um. Yes. I mean, I’m fine.”

Yuuri dragged a stool over and sat behind Viktor. Viktor lifted an eyebrow but didn’t comment on the awkward positioning. Viktor could have swivelled around so that they could talk face to face but he didn’t. Maybe Viktor didn’t want to talk to Yuuri when he was flustered and stuttering like this. He understood. In any case, Yuuri was grateful for the fact that he wasn’t quite looking Viktor in the eye. He might spontaneously combust if he did.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I…I can’t do it. You’re going to have to find someone else.”

Judging by the pause of the snips beside him, he could tell that Phichit and Yuri were listening intently. 

“But I want you.” Viktor said slowly.

Yuuri ignored the leap in his heart when he heard that. He didn’t mean what he thought he meant.

“I don’t think you understand,” Yuuri said, eyes widening. “But you’re Viktor Nikiforov. You’re…you’re one of the greatest figure skaters alive. You’re…you’re…” he swallowed. “You’re brilliant.” It didn’t suffice. Nothing in the English language, Japanese and he suspected, even Russian, would be enough to describe who Viktor was. ‘Perfection’ didn’t do justice. ‘Beautiful’ didn’t even come close, especially now that Yuuri saw him with his own eyes.

Viktor glanced down. Fingers threaded through his hair, like water. He tugged at it. 

“I know,” he said, voice strange. “I’m Viktor Nikiforov. Five-time world champion. Olympic champion. World recorder holder. People magazine’s ‘Sexiest Man Alive’ for three years straight.” 

He heard Yuri making a muffled gagging sound. Yuuri looked closer at him.

Something was wrong. Viktor had his shoulders slightly raised, his face tight with suppressed emotion. The smile on his face looked like the ones in interviews or on the front cover of magazines. Wide with teeth exposed. But it was Viktor’s eyes that made Yuuri stand up and make Viktor start. Eyes that looked like the blue had been dulled, smothered out until nothing remained. Only black.

“Would you like to get some coffee?” Yuuri blurted out. Immediately, he clapped his hands over his mouth. What was he thinking? He couldn’t believe he had just asked his idol out for coffee. And besides, Viktor probably didn’t drink coffee. At least, definitely not Starbucks. He probably  had some fancy, imported beans that somebody ground up and brought to him in a diamond-encrusted glass in his suite. He was about to apologize, possibly beg Viktor for his forgiveness but before  he could get a word out, Viktor said, “Okay.”

Wait, what?

Yuuri stared at Viktor for so long that Viktor asked, with a chuckle, “Did you mean today or next week?”

“O-Oh!” Yuuri looked down, ears flushing. “I-I’m sorry! I’ll just…jacket…I need…wait!” he flapped his hands at Viktor before he spun on his heel.

He avoided Yuri’s bug-eyed stare as he walked past him to grab his coat. His hands were shaking. A few seconds later, Phichit was at his side. 

“I can’t believe you asked Viktor out on a date!” he whisper-shouted. “Oh my god, you have to let me tweet this!”

“It’s not a date,” Yuuri hissed. “And don’t say anything about it on social media. It’s only…I was thirsty!”

“Thirsty for some—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

 

Never in a million years did Yuuri think that he’d be walking side by side with Viktor Nikiforov, going to get coffee.

Okay, maybe he did think that. In his dreams. But there was always something off about the dreams. Like when Yuuri was dressed in nothing but a loose shirt and boxers with a tie around his head. Or when Viktor had arrived at his home to pick him up, buck-naked. That had been the weirdest one.

As surreptitiously as he could, he looked up but Viktor’s eyes were already on him. He ducked his head, blushing.

Viktor paused outside of Starbucks and he opened the door, with a smile, for Yuuri.

Yuuri blushed. “Um. We’re actually, um, going somewhere else?” 

“Oh.” The tip of his nose turned pink. “Lead the way,Yuuri.”

The coffee shop that he was taking Viktor to was a few blocks away. It was nearly buried behind the malls and other coffee shops that were scattered around and Phichit had been the one to discover it but it had quickly become one of his favourite spots to go to whenever he needed to relax.

The walk there would only take seven minutes. He half-expected Viktor to start talking to fill up the silence. Unconsciously, his shoulders lifted in anticipation of that. He tried to think of funny quips to say so he didn’t seem completely socially inept but Viktor seemed content to walk quietly beside him.

Somewhere along the way, Viktor had wrapped his scarf around his neck again so that most his hair was hidden. Yuuri couldn’t help but smile at the cat-ears beanie on his head that he had taken from Phichit. It was actually Yuri’s but he had been so engrossed in his conversation with Otabek that he had not noticed Viktor walking out of the shop with it on.

“Okay, we’re here.” Yuuri said. 

Viktor squinted up at the sign. “Ciao Ciao?”

Chewing on his lip, Yuuri nodded. He knew it. It had been a mistake. Viktor Nikiforov would never be seen stepping foot into a small cafe like this. When it was summer, the most Celestino, the owner, could do was crack the windows open. Come winter, everyone had to remain bundled up in their coats and scarves, nursing their mugs of coffee with gloved hands. It didn’t look like much on the outside.

Yuuri waited, his throat tight.

Viktor clapped his hands, a delighted smile on his face. “Wow! It’s nice. But why’s it called that?”

Yuuri opened the door, standing aside so Viktor could go in first. “You’ll see.”

Casting an amused glance at the rusty bell that hung at the top, Viktor strolled in.

Maybe Yuuri was being biased, but the dark interior of the cafe suddenly seemed to light up as soon as Viktor walked in. The sun shone a little brighter, illuminating the two rickety round tables set up near the window. Italian music played from the speakers propped against the ceiling. There was a bar set up where Celestino was making the coffee and a row of chairs lined up. Right now, chipped blue cups lined the bar but at night, multi-coloured lights would glint across the surface of bottles of alcohol when Minako, the other owner, would preside. After Yuuri had gotten drunk, stripped and apparently pole-danced a month ago, he had been too embarrassed to visit Minako even though she had reassured him that everyone had loved it.

After they ordered, they went to a table near the window and sat down. Five minutes later, Celestino arrived at their table with their drinks and a smile. His long hair was tied up in a ponytail, the sides shaved, courtesy of Phichit. 

“Ciao ciao!” Celestino said as he handed Viktor his latte and Yuuri his mocha. “Yuuri, I don’t usually see you here until after 5. Lunch break?”

“Oh, y-yes.” Yuuri rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean no. Um. I just wanted my caffeine.” 

“And who’s your friend?” Celestino glanced at Viktor. “Ciao ciao, I’m Celestino!”

For the first time, Viktor looked a little uncomfortable. “I…”

The shop owner leaned closer, eyes narrowed. “Have I seen you before? You look familiar…”

“Thank you, Celestino.” Yuuri interrupted. 

The silence between Yuuri and Viktor was heavy as soon as Celestino left. Viktor took a sip of his latte. 

“It’s good,” he said, a little surprised but pleased.

Yuuri smiled, eyes straying to the clock.

An hour. He only had an hour of Viktor’s time. Or maybe just until they finished their drinks. Probably an inconsequential hour in Viktor’s eyes but to Yuuri, it would be something he would never forget. He didn’t know what he could say to hold his interest. Viktor would probably forget him soon, anyway so maybe it didn’t matter what Yuuri said. 

Yuuri swirled his cup, the sweet mocha barely touching his lips.

“Thank you, Yuuri.” Yuuri nearly dropped his cup. Viktor’s Russian accent elongating the ‘u’, rolling the ‘r’. He suppressed a shiver.

“W-What for?”

“For just now. With Celestino. For coffee. For…a lot of things.”

“Oh. I don’t mind. I mean, you’re welcome.”

Viktor smiled. Yuuri relaxed a little bit. He knew he was wasting his time by not talking to Viktor but the uneasy silence that had sat between them before had dissipated. Even if they didn’t talk for the entire hour, it would still be one of the most precious hours he ever had.

“Not that I mind getting coffee—especially with someone as cute as you—but is there a reason why you decided to forgo my haircut in favour of coffee?” 

Ooooor they could talk. 

Yuuri’s ears burned. “Um, I wanted to talk. To you.” He cringed.

Viktor propped his chin up on the cradle his hands made. “What about? My career? My new program? How many lovers I’ve had?”

Every little move, every word that dropped from his lips was flirtatious and teasing. But there was something manufactured about it. Like he was going through a list inside his head and checking them off. Tick, tick, tick. 

Sitting this close to him, Yuuri could see that Viktor was barely holding it together. Clutching onto that facade by his fingernails because that was the only thing that he could grasp onto.

“Viktor,” it was the first time that Yuuri had said his name to him. Viktor looked up, a small crack in his mask. “Are you alright?”

Yuuri could hear the murmurs of the other patrons sitting nearby, the sentences running together into a hazy blur. The ticking of the clock. Celestino’s booming laugh as he tried to reassure Georgi’s, one of the baristas, recent breakup woes. Viktor’s shallow breathing.

“No.” Viktor’s voice was barely audible. 

“I just came from a funeral.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> Guess where I got my inspiration from when I wrote this story? 
> 
> Needs more long-haired Viktor *sobs*


End file.
